


just before a light

by kimaracretak



Category: The Closer
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/F, Hair-pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/pseuds/kimaracretak
Summary: "The thing about this job, Brenda Leigh," Sharon says, and she tries not to think too hard about how easily she's slid across the desk to sit between Brenda's legs, "Is that no one who wants this job should have it. That's why you're here.""Sounds like an insult," Brenda says. She blinks up at Sharon, wide-eyed and just on the edge of the infuriating, intoxicating affected innocence that part of Sharon always wants to believe in. She knows better, always has, has seen Brenda at her most lethal - and then Brenda parts her lips just so, and everything Sharon knows destabilises.
Relationships: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Sharon Raydor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 63
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	just before a light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/gifts).



> Caress my knees with your tongue  
> Teeth on my waist I come undone  
> It's those hours in the night _just before a light_  
>  Run your hand down my spine  
> We kiss the dusk goodnight  
> — 'BTSK', MS MR
> 
> Thanks to Ella for the beta <3

"Chief of Police Brenda Leigh Johnson." Sharon surveys the sparse office, hands on her hips. "I don't think I'm ever going to get tired of saying that."

"Too bad," Brenda pouts. She's dwarfed by the stately desk, and Sharon's half-surprised she hasn't replaced it with something less tasteful. Maybe her poor assistant managed to sell her on the size of the new candy drawer. "Cause I've already gotten tired of hearing it."

"Come on, the press love you. Take advantage of it while you can."

"It's Los Angeles," Brenda points out as Sharon crosses the room to sit on the edge of the desk. "The press loves anyone who gives them something to write about, which I, as a bisexual female Chief from Georgia and the CIA, have been doin' just by existin'. And I - ooh, I really need to get another media liason."

She reaches for a pen, and Sharon leans over to trap her hand against the desk before Brenda can follow that particular impulse any further. "Why don't you hold off on that until the morning?" she suggests. "Anything you say to Taylor tonight is going to end in an FID investigation."

"Now that's just not polite at all comin' from the woman who put me here," Brenda says, voice edging on a whine. Her hand is warm under Sharon's, and she isn't pulling away. "I wouldn't have to think about these sorts of things if it weren't for you." She turns her hand over carefully, fingertips light against the sensitive skin of Sharon's wrists.

"The thing about this job, Brenda Leigh," Sharon says, and she tries not to think too hard about how easily she's slid across the desk to sit between Brenda's legs, "Is that no one who wants this job should have it. That's why you're here."

"Sounds like an insult," Brenda says. She blinks up at Sharon, wide-eyed and just on the edge of the infuriating, intoxicating affected innocence that part of Sharon always wants to believe in. She knows better, always has, has seen Brenda at her most lethal - and then Brenda parts her lips just so, and everything Sharon knows destabilises.

"It is," Sharon takes a breath as Brenda's foot nudges against hers, an old question that she hasn't asked in months, since before her divorce, before she made Chief. It's still a question Sharon wants to answer, badly - a question she shouldn't answer in the middle of Brenda's office. "But not one directed at you."

"You sure about that, Commander?" Brenda licks her lips, and Sharon loses all desire to keep up the flimsy pretense that one of them isn't going to end up on their knees again. Her body has known what she wanted since the moment she stepped foot in the office and seen Brenda's tired eyes smiling up at her in the lamplight, no matter her good intentions. "Time was you'd never pass up the opportunity to call me a bitch."

Sharon can feel her cheeks growing pinker under Brenda's gaze. "I could say the same thing about you." But there's no malice in her words like there might have been two years ago - just a different, welcome type of heat. "But we both know it would mean something different from me."

She lets her shoes fall, drags one stockinged foot up Brenda's leg, smiles as Brenda's eyes flutter shut. "I know," Brenda sighs. "And I think you should show me exactly what it means."

Brenda parts her legs in open invitation, and Sharon slips off the desk to her knees, wincing slightly as the carpet scrapes against her legs. "I like you there, Commander," Brenda says, and Sharon shivers at the sound of her new rank on her Chief's lips. "Just for me."

Sharon drags Brenda's hideous skirt up her legs, scraping her nails lightly over the soft skin underneath. Brenda shifts above her, draping a leg over Sharon's shoulder, and Sharon closes her eyes at the familiarity, pressing her lips to Brenda's inner thigh.

Brenda's fingers tighten in her hair, and Sharon grins. "Seems a bit soft for the ice bitch of FID," Brenda says, but the old breathiness has already started to creep into her tone - the one she always gets when Sharon's between her legs, or after getting a confession. 

"Patience," Sharon says, pulling back enough to see what she has to work with. Brenda's underwear is pink and floral like yesterday's dress, and edged with white lace that Sharon can't imagine is comfortable. "I feel like wearing those under the uniform should be a crime," Sharon mutters.

She leans forward again, licks a long stripe over the cloth so she doesn't have to look at it, and she's gratified when Brenda shivers at the sensation of the fabric dragging against her core. "And where do you plan to add that into the police code of conduct, Commander?"

"Please. Absolutely no one else on the force would dream of wearing those." She takes advantage of Brenda's momentary distraction to pull her to the edge of her chair, leather creaking underneath her.

"I wear them just -" Brenda inhales sharply as Sharon flattens her tongue over her clit - "Just to irritate you." She sounds smug enough about it that Sharon almost believes her, but she can taste Brenda under the damp fabric of her underwear now, and she can't bring herself to care.

"Then you won't mind me keeping them," she says, sliding them down Brenda's legs and nudging them under the desk behind her. One of them will have to remember to pick them up, and she knows from experience that it will be her - that she'll slip them to Brenda, that Brenda will bury them in one of the infinite pockets of her awful purse - but she can't resist teasing.

"Long as you don't burn the - fuck." She hisses as Sharon's tongue slides over her cunt, and Sharon grins against her skin. Brenda's slick and hot, her outer lips swollen as Sharon licks over them, too light to do anything but tease Brenda.

She takes her time, because she can - it's not often they have both the thrill of the office and the luxury of time, but being in the Chief's- her Chief's office after midnight gives them that. She dips the tip of her tongue inside Brenda and can't hold back a moan at the taste of her, closes her teeth over Brenda's clit and doesn't bite down just to feel Brenda pull her hair in retaliation. 

"Don't keep me waitin', Commander," Brenda says with a sigh, the words slightly muffled. "I could always demote you again."

Any threat is ruined when Sharon glances up to see her head thrown back, free hand over her mouth and blonde curls falling in a messy ponytail over her shoulder. "Wouldn't dream of it," she murmurs, and watches Brenda's dark eyes fix on hers as she sucks hard on her clit, swirling her tongue around the hard tip.

Brenda pulls hard on her hair again, in threat or reward, and Sharon moans, her thighs pressing together involuntarily. Brenda might be soaking under her mouth, might be the one whimpering as Sharon's tongue strokes over her entrance again and again, but Sharon's sure that the state of her own underwear (navy blue, not a scrap of lace in sight) is just as embarrassing - or would be, if Brenda had any concept of relating _embarrassing_ and _sex_.

"Commander Raydor," Brenda hisses, and the sting of her nails across Sharon's scalp draws her attention back to the woman underneath her mouth. "I want you to fuck me in my office. That means I want your fingers inside me and your mouth on me and I want you to make me come."

It's unfair what Brenda's voice can do to her, always has been, and Sharon's body has always responded to her orders, even the ones that she makes sound like requests. Brenda's wet enough that Sharon can slip two fingers inside her cunt easily, her palm bumping against her slick chin as she does. Brenda's heel digs into her back as she tries to pull her closer, her inner muscles clenching around Sharon's fingers as she explores the slick familiarity of her Chief's body.

With her mouth free, she can say, "Wouldn't want to disobey a direct order, Chief," and she spreads her fingers, curls them, draws back and pushes three inside sharply enough that Brenda's back arches away from the chair, her bitten red lips wide in a smile that shows her teeth sunk into her fist.

Sharon's never going to get tired of this - of the most powerful woman in the city riding her hand, finally speechless. Her knees are sore and her cunt is throbbing, and none of it matters because she curls her fingers once more, runs her tongue over Brenda's clit, and she's coming above her, in a hot, slick rush all over Sharon's wrist.

Brenda groans wordlessly as Sharon strokes her through her orgasm, until her leg finally slips off her shoulder as Sharon draws back. "Fuck," she says, and Sharon laughs.

"Yes, I believe we did," she says as she stands, bracing herself on the desk with her damp hand. "Despite your distaste for the office."

"Well," Brenda says, voice dark with promise. "Turn around and bend over the desk, and I might grow to like it more."

And Sharon obeys. Brenda strokes a careful hand over the curve of her hip, hooks her fingers under the hem of Sharon's skirt and pushes it up until it's bunched between Sharon's waist and the edge of the desk. It's not the most comfortable position, but Brenda's hands are gentle, and Sharon leans into the touch as much as she can.

"I've missed this," Brenda says quietly, and the admission makes her sound almost vulnerable. "I've missed how good this is. How good you always are."

Sharon laughs, shifting her legs further apart for Brenda's wandering hands. "Now who's being soft?"

Brenda's fingers are back in her hair almost before she's finished the sentence, winding the strands around her hand until her fist is resting against Sharon's head. "Careful what you wish for," she says, and it's threat and promise all in one, and Sharon gasps, torn between focussing on her neglected cunt or her burning scalp.

"Brenda," she says, and, " _Chief_ ," and she doesn't beg, neither of them do, but if Brenda keeps her waiting much longer she's going to start thinking about it.

"Use your words, Commander," Brenda murmurs, dragging a lazy finger over Sharon's underwear. "Now's hardly the time to forget how to ask for what you want." But she presses her finger to Sharon's mouth, and Sharon's lips close around her fingertip, tasting herself bittersweet on Brenda's skin. "Unless you want me to do whatever I want to, instead."

"And that's different from normal how?" But she trusts Brenda - as surprising as it once would have been to think. She trusts Brenda in the field, and the interrogation room, and whatever substitute for a bed they find, has trusted her even when she thought she hated her the most. Even when Brenda left bite marks ringing her collarbone or when she took over crime scenes, Sharon had always believed that she could believe in her, and be rewarded for it.

Brenda tugs her hair, hard enough that Sharon's neck bows back with the force of it, and she lets the memories go with an effort, sinking back into the sensation. "Focus on me," she says, and Sharon shuts her eyes, inhales, feels the ease with which Brenda's spit-slick finger pushes aside her soaking underwear and slips into her.

"Make me," she breathes. Every part of her wants to look back, to see Brenda's smile as she adds a second finger and then a third, but when she opens her eyes to the window in front of her Los Angeles is glittering beneath her with more stars than she's ever seen in the sky, and she can't breathe with the rightness of where she is, bent over her Chief's desk at nearly one in the morning, shivering around three of Brenda's fingers.

The fingers curl inside her, and Sharon grips the edge of the desk so tightly her wrists tremble. She's close, and Brenda knows her body too well to let her waver on the edge for too long. She can feel her wetness running down her thighs, knows it must be coating Brenda's wrist every time she thrusts inside her. "Make you what?" Brenda asks, and she's breathing hard too, the sharp edge of her hipbone jutting into Sharon's ass as she presses impossibly closer.

"Make me -" Sharon moans as Brenda's thumb flicks over her clit, "Make me come, _Chief_."

"Well," Brenda says, draping Sharon's hair over her shoulder and brushing her lips over the back of her neck. "I suppose that could be arranged. Since you've been _so_ good to me."

And she does. Pulls Sharon's hair one last time, bending her further forward and all she can do is hold on, lock her thighs tight around Brenda's wrist as she grinds her palm down on her clit and that's all it takes for Sharon to come hard, trembling so hard she's sure she would have slid to the floor if Brenda's body hadn't been pinning her to the desk.

She relaxes her grip on the wood slowly as she tries to calm her breathing, as Brenda smooths her underwear back into place with damp fingers. It's sticky and uncomfortable against her swollen cunt, and she'll have to clean up before she leaves the building - they both will - but it's hard to be worried about that when she turns around and finds herself still in Brenda's arms, bracketed against the desk.

"You've missed this too, haven't you?" Brenda asks, but they both know she already knows the answer. That she wouldn't have asked if she didn't.

Brenda runs a hand through her hair and bites her lip, looking more unsure than Sharon's ever seen her after they fuck. "Then we should talk about this later, shouldn't we? What it means ... now."

"Probably," Sharon agrees. She crouches down to pick up Brenda's discarded underwear, presses them into her hand as she leans forward for a brief kiss. "But tomorrow. Or sometime - not in the office."

"Yeah," Brenda sighs as she steps back. "Sometime when we won't do ... _this_ instead." 

Sharon slips back into her shoes. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find some other way to deflect the conversation if you need to," she says.

Brenda opens her mouth to protest, but then seems to think better of it. "Well. I'll try not to."

It's as much of a promise as she's ever going to get, and Sharon smiles. "My bag is still downstairs. Good night, Brenda Leigh."

"Good night," Brenda echoes, dropping back into her chair. When Sharon looks back, at the door from the lobby to the rest of the floor, Brenda's lamp is still on.


End file.
